


recognize the chances that you missed

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Car Accidents, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Firefighter Derek Hale, Hospitalization, Hurt Stiles, Injured Stiles Stilinski, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: It's been at least a decade since Derek saw Stiles, maybe longer. Hauling him out of a car wreck isn't how he expected a reunion to go.





	recognize the chances that you missed

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for prompt #324 at Fullmoon Ficlet - Recognize. It was also inspired by hearing "The Artist in the Ambulance" on the way to work the other day. And I suddenly decided to write fireman Derek rescuing someone he recognizes and is surprised to see. So. Here we go. Happy ending I promise, and sweet fluffy new beginnings.

The accident’s bad.

Derek can smell blood underneath the thickness of gas and oil. Streaks scar the pavement where the car tried to shift direction, painting a stinky path. There’s a rich, sweet scent on the air, too, like spilled alcohol.

Derek wrinkles his nose; it’s too easy to guess what happened here. He’s thankful the police are already on site, and he knows which ones won’t ask questions about why he’s calling for tests.

“Cutler, get Matthews over here; we’re going to need a breathalyzer test. If they’re conscious.” The truck’s jackknifed, the cab lying on its side. The car rolled, and the roof is dented deeply; Derek hopes the driver’s still alive after that.

“Let me go!”

There’s a shadow of a person next to the car, shoving at the fireman trying to get him to the ambulance.

“We’ve got a live one, and he’s fighting!” Beckett calls out, and Derek takes off at a run to meet him. Beckett’s got a cervical collar in one hand, the other reaching out for the guy Derek assumes was the driver of the car.

“Just calm down, please. You could have a spinal injury and we need to stabilize you. I need to get this collar on you—” Beckett cuts off abruptly as the man shoves him away, hard enough that Beckett stumbles back several steps. Beckett’s not a light man, and Derek smells ozone in the air.

He reassesses his first thoughts on the scene, releases a low growl that rumbles through the air. If this is supernatural, he needs to get it under control before someone gets hurt.

The man turns, hands in fists, raised for a fight. He stops, eyes blinking, and the fight goes out of him as he sags limply against the car. “Derek?”

“Stiles?” It’s been at least a decade since they last saw each other, maybe longer. Derek can’t honestly remember. “Last I knew you were in—”

“California. Well, I’m not. Derek….” Stiles stumbles forward, grips Derek’s jacket tightly, using it to pull himself in close, nose to nose with him. “Scott’s daughter is in my car,” he whispers. “And the car is going to catch on fire. Get her out. I can’t make my body work right, Derek. I need you to get her out.”

The reek of gasoline is stronger here, thick in the air and ready to ignite. “As long as you go with the EMTs,” Derek agrees.

Stiles pats his face awkwardly. “I’m fine, Der—” He trips on the end of the word, swallowing it as his eyes roll back and he passes out in Derek’s arms.

Fuck.

Derek scoops him up, cradling him close as he calls out, “Kid in the car, check under the seats if you don’t see her! Gas is leaking, and it’s a high risk to ignite. Get her out fast and safely, then get away from the car.”

He backs up, turning as soon as he’s clear and hurrying with Stiles to the ambulance. Maureen spots him coming and pushes a gurney in his direction, giving him a place to lay Stiles out. She’s ready with the oxygen mask, fixing it in place as soon as Stiles is settled, but he’s absolutely still. Limp, with one hand hanging over the edge.

Cathy sits with the truck driver, using butterfly bandages to fix a cut over his eye. It’ll need stitches, but that’ll hold him until he gets to the hospital. Derek can smell the liquor from here, infusing the air around the driver, so thick it’s embedded in his jacket. Brandy, he thinks. He raises a hand, and Matthews is there to take the report.

Matthews will take care of it; he doesn’t tolerate drunk drivers on his roads.

Derek’s left helpless with nothing to do. He doesn’t want to leave Stiles, lingering awkwardly until the sound of a shriek and a pained grunt catch his ears. He looks over, and they’ve got the car torn apart as Cutler backs out of it.

“She bit me!” Cutler yells out.

Scott’s daughter. Fuck. Right.

“Take care of him,” Derek orders.

Maureen huffs. “Like I’d do anything else. I’ll load him in as soon as we’re ready to roll; you can follow us to General if you’re that invested.”

Derek rarely uses his inhuman abilities where he can be seen, but he wastes no time getting back to the car. He’s there in just a few steps, ignoring the way the rest of the team stares when he appears. “You okay, Cutler?”

“Fine, Hale,” Cutler mutters, still looking at his hand. “The brat drew blood.”

“She’s scared,” Derek reminds him dryly. “Evacuate first, whine second. Keep extinguishers on any open flames you see and don’t let it spread. Try to keep me from going up like a fireball. I’m going in to get her.”

He hates that scent, like flames are about to burst into being. He knows it well by now—all the different stages of a fire. Time hovers in this moment, trapped in a will-it or won’t-it stage, and he’s hoping his people can keep the car from lighting up. Because there’s a scared tween with wide eyes and a slightly crooked jawline pressed down between the seats, her fingers tipped with claws and her teeth sharp when she growls at him.

Derek flashes his eyes, thankful that they’re a reassuring yellow now. “I’m a friend,” he says softly. “I know Stiles. I know your dad.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say.

She leaps up, launching herself at him, claws scraping across his face. The cuts heal as quickly as she makes them, and her words are incoherent. He hates to do it, but he needs to get her to safety first, and deal with emotional or mental trauma after, so he wraps his arms around her, holding her as tight as he can, using his supernatural strength to immobilize her upper body. She rages against his grip, kicking her feet out as he drags her from the car and into the night.

Derek hears the concerned noises from his team, but he doesn’t stop. “Getting her to Maureen,” he shouts. “Do whatever you need to do to get the fire out.”

He doesn’t let go until she makes a squeaking sound that Derek swears is Stiles’s name. She’s running as soon as he sets her down, skidding to a stop by Stiles’s side. She grips his hand with human fingers, bends down to rub her cheek against the back of his hand.

Maureen reaches for her, but Derek raises a hand. “She’s fine,” he says quietly. “She managed to get herself wedged in and didn’t get tossed around when the car rolled.” It’s probably a lie, but any injuries the girl had are healed, and as feral as she is in the moment, Derek doesn’t want Maureen to push her. “How’s Stiles?”

“You know him, I take it?” Maureen gently takes Stiles’s hand from the girl’s, places both his hands on his chest as she straps him in. “We’re taking him to General. I haven’t loaded him in yet because the one time I tried, he yelled first for someone named Ana, then for you, then he passed out again. He’s stable.”

“It’s my fault,” the girl whispers. “Is he going to die, too?”

Maureen glances at Derek and he gives a tiny shake of his head, silently asking her to let the implications of that question go.

Derek touches the girl’s shoulder, pulling back when she flinches. “I’m guessing you’re Ana, right?”

She nods. As soon as Maureen has Stiles in the back of the ambulance, Ana scrambles in after him, kneeling next to him and gripping his hand tightly.

“He’s not going to die,” Maureen reassures them. “And the driver of the truck blew a .22 and from the blunts they found in the seat, we’re pretty sure he’s high as a kite as well. This wasn’t your fault, hon.”

Ana makes a tiny, pitiful sound.

Derek glances over to where it looks like his crew is cleaning up. Cutler’s already got his hand wrapped, and Beckett is watching Derek curiously. Derek jabs a finger towards Becker, then the truck, then touches his own chest and points at the ambulance.

Beckett nods, and Derek turns away, climbing in next to Stiles and Ana. “I’ll just ride along,” he says.

Ana sniffs like she doesn’t care, but as soon as Derek sits down, she leans into him, and together they hold onto Stiles all the way to the hospital.

#

Ana slumps in the chair in the waiting area, her knees bent, heels pressed against the edge of the chair as she curls into a ball. Her hands are small fists, and Derek can smell the blood where her claws press into soft skin.

He moves from sitting across from her to sitting next to her, gently covers her hand and gives her something else to hold onto. “You can’t break my hand,” he reminds her.

“I could,” she says sharply. “You’d just heal.”

“Then go ahead.”

He regrets the offer a moment later when his fingers crackle and pop, breaking then healing as soon as he stretches them. But she smiles and leans closer, like he’s passed some kind of a test.

As she settles against his shoulder, he has to think again about how long it’s been since he saw Stiles.

“I don’t know you,” she says plainly.

“I didn’t know Scott had a daughter,” Derek counters, holding her hand tightly when she flinches. “I lost touch with them.”

“Dad’s pack is pretty scattered,” Ana says quietly. “You’re Derek Hale. I’ve heard of you. I don’t know you, but I recognized you. From pictures Mom has because you’re, like, related or something. You’re old now. But so’s Dad. And Mom. And Stiles.” There’s a soft hitch in her words.

“Do you need to call your dad?” Derek offers. “You can use my phone.” He’s still parsing what she’s said, talking to distract himself while he thinks through it. Malia must be her mother. Which makes Ana a cousin of sorts.

She’s family.

Ana shudders, and he puts an arm around her cautiously.

“He’s not dead,” she says sharply. “I know what you’re thinking. He’s just not here, either. Like, he’s not even in the country. He went with Aunt Kira and Mom’s not around and Lydia’s God only knows where, so it’s just me and Stiles right now.”

“Here?” Derek can’t imagine that they’ve been right under his nose the whole time.

She shakes her head. “Road trip.”

“Mm.” Derek goes silent, waits until her breathing and heart rate slow before he prods for more details. “How old are you?”

She snorts indelicately. “It really has been a long time, hasn’t it? I’m thirteen. And Dad’s like, he’s old. He’s almost _forty_.” She says it like it’s a dirty word, and when Derek thinks about it, he realizes that he passed forty years old a year ago.

It really has been a long time. “I think I last saw them when Stiles graduated from college,” he says slowly. There were emails after that. Texts. He had helped them for a time while they were trying to save the supernatural world, but eventually Derek just wanted to settle down somewhere quiet. He joined a pack they’d found and made a place for himself, while the Beacon Hills pack moved on. “It’s been a lot longer than ten years,” he muses softly. “It’s a miracle we even recognized each other.”

“Stiles would always recognize you,” Ana says. She pats his chest in a gesture that reminds him of Stiles. “You’re pack. You’re his pack, right?”

“Derek.” The door opens and Jenna—Dr. Hathaway—stands there with it propped, waiting. She gestures, and Derek nudges Ana to standing. Together they walk through, into the antiseptic hallway, following as Jenna leads them through a maze to find a room with the door closed.

Jenna waits before opening it. “I’m glad you had them call me in,” she says seriously. “I don’t think anyone else here—”

“Is she pack?” Ana asks.

Jenna’s nostrils flare.

“My new pack, yes. She’s our Healer, for when things aren’t exactly normal injuries.” Derek motions at the door. “Can we have this conversation inside the room, or is it something Stiles can’t hear?”

“Is he dying?” Ana asks worriedly.

“He’s not dying, but he’s not likely to wake up for a while,” Jenna admits. “He’s drained himself. We need to give him fluids, nutrition. It’s like he’s been in the desert for a week and it may take a while to get better.”

“Hmph.” Ana looks at Derek, grips his hand tightly. “Looks like it’s you and me, then,” she says, pushing the door open and pulling him behind her as she strides into the room.

Derek holds on to the doorjamb so he can speak to Jenna, while Ana yanks on his hand. “Can you make sure that I get some time off, and let Jeremy know that I’ve got a pack guest?” he says quietly. “Stiles is an old friend, and Ana’s the daughter of another old friend. More than that, she’s family. I can’t just leave them here.”

“I get it.” Jenna looks past him, to where Stiles sleeps. “He was awake for a few minutes, and he told me more than he probably meant to. It’s better if you stay.”

Ana yanks as Jenna closes the door. Derek ends up in the one chair, with Ana perched on the arm, and both of them holding on to Stiles as if he might disappear.

Stiles exhales softly, expression lax in sleep. Derek has a feeling they’re in this for the long haul.

#

It takes three days before Stiles wakes up, and another two before he manages to stay awake for more than moments at a time.

At first Ana refuses to leave Stiles’s side, needing to be there every time he opens his eyes and says her name. But when Stiles insists that she go home with Derek, get some rest in an actual bed, she finally relents and takes the help that’s offered.

She spends most of the final two days asleep as well, and Derek isn’t awake much of that himself.

He wakes up with his phone ringing, and Ana standing there in an oversized t-shirt, shoving the phone in his face.

“It’s the hospital,” she says, her voice high-pitched and tight.

“Hello?” Derek answers it quickly, nods at the voice speaking on the other end. They don’t want him to say anything, and he wants the conversation over with as quickly as possible. “We’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he agrees, and the nurse is gone.

“Is he okay?” Ana leans on the bed, her hair tangled. Like this, Derek can see Malia in her features, the wildness of the coyote that she once was.

“He’s fine, he’s just awake. Really awake, and asking for you. Go shower and get dressed, and we’ll get breakfast on the way.”

They’re out the door in ten minutes, Ana complaining the whole way that Derek took too long. When they stop, Derek gets himself coffee and gets an extra, along with an entire dozen donuts, in case Stiles is allowed to eat solid food.

Ana tries to run ahead when they reach the hospital, but when Derek growls, she stumbles to a stop, glancing back at him. She grumbles under her breath and walks with him, snatching the box of donuts from his hands to carry it.

Stiles is sitting up in bed when they get there, a tray table and a half-empty plate in front of him. He looks up as soon as they push the door open, but doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Ana is in his lap, the table rolling to one side and carrying his food away.

Derek watches with a small smile as Ana buries her face against Stiles’s throat, scent marking him. He coughs, and Ana slides off the bed, stands with her hands behind his back.

“I swear, she knows how to behave, even if she was raised by wolves,” Stiles says. He scrubs a hand through his hair, his smile almost shy. “Hey, Derek. It’s been a while.”

“So I’ve been reminded, since apparently you’ve helped raise a whole teenager since I saw you last.” Derek hands Stiles one of the coffees, then lowers himself carefully into the chair next to the bed. Ana brings back the table, putting the box of donuts on it before she climbs onto the bed and curls up next to Stiles.

Derek really hopes Stiles is supposed to have caffeine and sugar, since an entire donut and half the cup of coffee are gone before Stiles speaks again.

“So….” Stiles says, drawing the one word out.

“I told him that Dad went with Aunt Kira and Mom’s not home and Lydia’s not home and you and me are on a road trip,” Ana says helpfully.

“Good start, kiddo. And this is—”

“Derek Hale. Mom’s cousin,” Ana says. “I paid attention.”

“I guess you did.” Stiles goes silent, and he looks at Derek.

For his part, Derek has no idea how to get into this conversation, or even exactly what this conversation is. So he stays silent. It’s safer that way.

The door nudges open. “Hi, Derek. I heard you came in.” Jenna steps in, her smile wide as she approaches Stiles. “And I heard that you’ve emerged from magical exhaustion. I’d think you knew better than to put yourself on the line like that.”

“I saw the truck coming at us, and when it hit, all I could think was to wrap us up and protect us,” Stiles admits. “It wasn’t a conscious decision. A lot of my best magic isn’t. It just happens when I need it, and suddenly I’m doing things like holding 200lbs of dead-weight paralyzed werewolf above the water and keeping us from drowning.”

Derek blinks.

_Magic,_ Stiles mouths at him.

“Let me just give you a quick check, then I’ll be able to get your paperwork done.” Jenna glances at Derek, then to Ana. “And maybe you’d like to help me?” she offers, her attention still on Ana. “Want to hear what his heartbeat sounds like?”

“I can already hear his heartbeat,” Ana retorts with a roll of her eyes. It doesn’t stop her from reaching for the stethoscope, though, eyes going wide when she hears the difference in the sound.

After Jenna declares Stiles fit, and takes out the IV, Ana follows her from the room to help with the paperwork.

The door closes with a thunk.

“Is she psychic or something?” Stiles asks. “Emotionally aware of awkward moments when it might be really weird to have a conversation with extra people in the room, and willing to take on a sarcastic teenager in order to help out?”

“Ana takes after you,” Derek observes.

“Yeah, well, I live in a house with my best friend, and two of my ex-girlfriends, and we all coparent her, so I’m not surprised something rubbed off on her. At least it’s just the sarcasm. I’m sure it could’ve been worse,” Stiles says. “On the other hand, Scott just gives me sad eyes every time Ana gets snarky, so I guess he already thinks it’s the worst option.”

Derek offers the remains of his coffee, since he’s not drinking it and Stiles appears to be done with his own. Stiles counters with a glazed donut.

“I suppose you want to talk about it,” Stiles mumbles around a mouthful of coffee.

“How long has it been?” Derek asks, admitting, “I’ve lost track.”

“Fifteen years.” Stiles sets the cup down. “And it’s not that we didn’t know where you were. Obviously we knew. It’s just—you seemed to want to be left alone. So we did. But then I was there, on my own with Ana, and it just seemed like a great time to get in the car and come visit. I thought you’d like knowing you had more family.”

Lie.

Derek can hear the skip in Stiles’s heartbeat. “What are you leaving out?”

“Did you know I just turned thirty-eight?” Stiles asks. “Ana says we’re old. She says we’re forty already, although we’re not, obviously. But it’s the kind of thing that gets a guy thinking, especially when your exes are getting it on with each other, and it’s not like Scott actually cares, since I’m pretty sure he’s getting back together with Kira.”

“Do any of you do normal relationships?” Derek asks dryly.

“Jackson and Ethan have been together for twenty years now,” Stiles reminds him. “They’re pretty damned stable. Never figured it’d be them, but it is.” He goes silent again. His picks up the cup again, turns it in his long fingers, taps against the side and the cup echoes faintly, like a tiny drum. “I just got to thinking.”

“About?”

“Family,” Stiles says. “Missed chances. So I figured I’d give you that chance you missed.”

It’s not quite a lie, but it’s not quite the truth.

“By bringing Ana to meet me,” Derek says slowly.

Stiles hesitates. “Yes?”

The truth of what he isn’t saying occurs to Derek then, slipping in between the cracks of what is and isn’t verbalized. He needs to respond, but he’s not sure exactly how.

“Soooo….” Stiles drags the word out again, stares at the cup in his hands. “You got along with her.”

“She’s all set up in my guest room. You can come home with me when you’re discharged,” Derek says. “Stay a while.”

“I don’t want to wear out our welcome.”

“I’d say stay as long as you like, but Scott might want his daughter back,” Derek counters. He reaches out, carefully plucks the cup from Stiles’s hands and sets it on the table. Then he covers Stiles’s hand with his own, curls his fingers warmly around him.

“I missed you, too,” Derek says quietly. “You knew where I was. I didn’t think you wanted to come here.”

“You left,” Stiles mumbles. “I didn’t think you wanted any of us to come.”

Maybe he hadn’t, at first. Maybe he needed to step away, get a chance to live on his own and rebuild what was left of his life.

But maybe that’s changed, too.

“I don’t think I would’ve minded, if it were you,” Derek says slowly.

Stiles raises his gaze, and Derek reads hope in his scent, bright and flickering sharply. Derek slowly brings Stiles’s hand to his mouth, touches his lips to Stiles’s knuckles.

Stiles swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.

When Derek leans in, Stiles tilts his head, letting Derek fit into the crook of his neck, nuzzling against the soft skin. Derek rubs his cheek there first, then his mouth, opening up to bite gently as Stiles makes a low noise in his throat.

The door clicks, and Derek pulls back abruptly, settling into his chair again before the door opens.

“Ew, it smells gross in here,” Ana says, bouncing onto Stiles’s bed. “Dr. Hathaway has your paperwork and we can leave now. Except we don’t have a car.” She bats her eyes at Derek, and he remembers Scott’s beseeching looks. Yeah, she’s definitely his daughter.

“It’s okay, I’ve got plenty of space,” Derek says. He motions for Jenna to approach, waits while she has Stiles sign his discharge paperwork. “You can stay with me for a while.”

Ana dances happily as Jenna pulls the curtain shut, closing them out so that Stiles can get dressed. “We’ll get to visit,” she cheers.

When the curtain opens again, Stiles stands there, his skin pale but a smile wide upon his face. He reaches out, and Derek takes his hand, tugging him gently.

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek says quietly. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me (mostly silent) on Tumblr as [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and on Pillowfort as [tryslora](https://www.pillowfort.io/tryslora). I also write original fiction! If you like my fic, you might like my original twice-weekly series [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com) (also mirroring on Pillowfort at [Welcome to PHU](https://www.pillowfort.io/community/WelcomeToPHU)).


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